


Iron Fam Drabbles

by Dredfulhapiness



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, Iron Dad, Parent Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24184450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dredfulhapiness/pseuds/Dredfulhapiness
Summary: These are all of the short fics I post to Tumblr but aren't really long enough to be their own fics!
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t get why you’re being such a jerk.” Peter’s tone startled Tony. The door slammed behind him.

Tony’s head hurt. He was tired. He was hungry. He was sick of having this same argument every other week. He whipped his head around.

“What do you want from me?” Tony snapped. “An award for almost getting yourself killed? Want me to 3D print you a tombstone?”

“I just took Fisk down all on my own!” Peter squared his shoulders. His face twisted into a scowl. At his sides, his hands were balled into tentative fists. There was a dark bruise forming on his cheek. He favored his left leg. “I want you to be proud of me!”

Tony recoiled. He looked at Peter— so young and fiery and scratched up. The kid stuck his neck out constantly, put his life on the line constantly, called Tony with ideas all _Mr. Stark I think this could work_ and Tony thought about Howard ignoring him, Howard dismissing him, Howard hitting him. Tony thought about never being enough for someone— never being enough for himself.

Instead of snark, what came out of Tony was air.

“Of course I’m proud of you,” he said, all hostility gone from his voice. Instead there was hurt. There was raw honesty. He couldn’t believe Peter didn’t already know. He couldn’t believe he’d managed to betray the kid like that.

And he _was_ proud, because Peter was better than him. Peter turned him down, returned lost bikes, helped old ladies cross the street. Fuck, he put up with Tony, which was more than Tony could say most days.

Peter’s eyes widened. His scowl dampened to a surprised ‘O’. The tension in his shoulders faded by miles. It replaced itself with confusion that crossed his face in inches. His mouth worked. The muscles in his forehead twitched. “Then why—“ he forced out with a croak.

“Jesus, kid, I just don’t want you to die.” Tony hadn’t meant for his voice to crack. He pretended it hadn’t, and he pretended that his own sincerity hadn’t registered in Peter’s eyes as a sheen. “I didn’t invent time travel and save your ass just to let you get crushed by that mafia rat from Zootopia.”

“I’m not going to die,” Peter said, still defensive. Softer, though, this time. Rounded edges. When he said it, it sounded like a promise rather than a prayer.

And Tony wished that sentence didn’t come hand-in-hand with heartburn. He wished he could put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and say _I know you won’t, Pete_ but he’d already seen it. He’d already held him while he died. The stakes were higher now than they’d ever been because he had Peter back, and he had Morgan, and he had Harley and the thought of losing any of them made his throat tighten and Tony forced himself to say,

“I hope you’re right, kid, because I don’t know what the world will do if you’re not.”


	2. Chapter 2

He found Morgan hiding in the garage, half-tucked behind the workbench, half in the cabinet. 

When Peter stepped into the garage, it was the re-built Dum-E that pointed to her. He poked his head under the table from the opposite side, his eyebrows knit together. She was fiddling with a couple magnets. There was grease on the backs of her hands.

“You’re horrible at hide and seek,” he told her. 

“Are they gone yet?” she asked instead of biting back. She sounded tired. Defeated. Peter’s face fell.

“They just got here, Cy-Morg,” he said, concerned. “They’re here for you.” 

“I know,” she said, “That’s the problem.”

Peter sighed. “You got room in there?” Morgan nodded and scooted to the side. Peter squished into the cabinet, too. He bent his neck at an odd angle, and pulled his knees against his chest. Gently, he nudged Morgan with his shoulder. “What’s going on?” 

“I just don’t want to go out there,” she said with an attitude that only a thirteen year old could manage. “I don’t feel like having a party.” 

“There’s gifts,” Peter pointed out. “There’s no gifts in this cabinet.” 

“I don’t want gifts.” Morgan buried her face in her knees. Peter breathed out slowly. 

“Tell ya what. You tell me why you don’t want a party and I’ll get everyone out of here.” 

She looked up. “Really?”

“Sure,” Peter said, “if it’s a good enough reason. So spill.” 

He poked her knee. 

It was Morgan’s turn to sigh. “They’re going to spend the whole night talking about Dad.” 

That… hadn’t been the answer Peter had been expecting. He’d hoped he’d just need to sneak her a new wardrobe or threaten to beat up someone who hurt her feelings, or get Harley to sneak a piece of cake into the garage. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. It was his turn to fidget. His fingers screwed and unscrewed the hinges of the cabinet. 

“It’s just-- every time I have a birthday, or some major life event, everyone tells me how proud he would be of me, or how he’s smiling down on me, or how they just know he’s watching me.” She paused for air. “I’m so sick of being reminded that I have to grow up without him.” 

“Oh, Morgan…” 

They were both quiet for a stretch of time. Peter watched her profile as she played with the magnets.

“I know he loved me,” she said finally. “I don’t need people to keep telling me.”

Peter swallowed. “When Ben died,” he started carefully, “people wouldn’t stop talking about how much he loved me like a son,” he said. “How proud he was of me. His coworkers would tell me all about how he showed them pictures I drew.” Peter picked at his nails. “It hurts,” he said. “To know that the people you love aren’t around. It hurts to be reminded.”

Ben and Tony should have been at his graduation. There shouldn’t be an empty place at the table for family dinners. He should walk Morgan down the aisle on her birthday. Tony should be out in the living room blowing up balloons for his daughter’s birthday. 

But he wasn’t. 

Peter took a shuddering breath in. “People don’t say it to upset you,” he said, “or to rub it in your face that he’s gone. Sometimes we just love someone so much that we can’t stand the idea of keeping it to ourselves. Your dad was an ass, but he showed people he cared. No one wants you to miss out on that.” 

Morgan sniffed. Politely, Peter pretended he didn’t notice. 

“I wish he was here,” she said, her voice splintered. “It’s not fair.” 

Peter closed his eyes. He put an arm around Morgan’s shoulder and pulled her against his side. “I know it’s not,” he said. “I’m really sorry, kid.” and they hid from the party for a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to come talk to me on Tumblr @dredfulhapiness


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request by an anon on Tumblr who asked for "the media finding out Spider-Man has a crush on Thor" !

It was actually Thor who started the rumor. When a reporter had asked him, “what do you think of Spider-Man?” his (joking, hopefully) response had been,

“He’s great. Small. I think he has a crush on me, actually.” And he’d said it with that grin, with one arm around the reporter’s shoulder, while Starlord and Drax and Rocket and Nebula and Groot and Tony and Peter actually fought behind him. (He’d stopped fighting to momentarily talk to the press while Stormbreaker, high on momentum, cut through enemies like butter).

TMZ had just run with it and Thor had gone back out into space without answering either Peter or Tony’s calls.

Peter didn’t actually have a crush on Thor. Obviously. He was (somehow, miraculously) dating MJ, and even if Thor were human he’d be too old for Peter. He wasn’t, though, which meant he was lifetimes too old for Peter. And, while the “reporting” done on their supposed relationship was annoying, it was the fanfiction that nearly drove Peter to drink. Ned and MJ took devious turns sending it to him one night. From the innocent (date night-- a movie and popcorn), to the… otherwise. Peter didn’t read them, but he did find himself looking up what half the tags meant, and, _why_? Why did he do that?

There was the fanart, too, which also ranged from cute to lewd, though it leaned more toward the latter and, really, why did half of the stuff in these drawings exist? (And why was the talented artist behind them using their powers to draw Peter in such compromising positions).

Twitter wrapped itself up in a debate about whether or not Peter is able to lift Mjolnir. @spideyfanno1 insisted that Peter was the only one truly worthy of lifting Thor’s hammer, relationship or not.

Jane Foster refused to comment on Thor’s sexuality, which ended up making things worse because the narrative became _why would you break up with Thor if he were attracted to women just_ look _at him._

Spider-Man’s twitter blew up so much that Peter had to log out so he could study. People were invested.

“Who’s the better kisser?” MJ asked, leaning on the locker next to Peter’s. “Me or him?”

“Har har,” Peter said.

“I bet it’s electric,” Ned said. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Does your heart stop?” MJ asked.

“Like sticking a fork in an electrical socket?”

“I’m going to break up with you both,” Peter said.

“You can’t get rid of us that easily, bro,” Ned said. “Even if I do run a SpiderThor ship account on Twitter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any fic requests, or if you just want to talk head canons, come talk to me on Tumblr @dredfulhapiness ! Kudos and comments on here are also always appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend @official-impravidus on Tumblr sent me the dialogue prompt "You're insufferable" "No. I'm innovative" ! Please go check out her fics at https://archiveofourown.org/users/impravidus/pseuds/impravidus and go follow her on Tumblr!

“Okay, I had an idea!” Peter burst into the garage. He was _literally_ vibrating. His hair was a mess, his clothes were wrinkled. He spoke with his hands, “If we can make the nozzle size on my webslingers adjustable, they can be multi-purpose. It’ll be easier for me to change settings. Where’s that really tiny wrench? Oh, and May said that if you wanted to come to dinner on Friday she’s making that soup you really like. The tortilla one. And also I think she’s baking her own bread but I think I’ll buy some beforehand because that usually doesn’t go well for us. Last time she burnt it, and the time before it was undercooked, and before that it didn’t rise. I’ll just hide it in the cabinet and pretend we had it the whole time and--”

All the while, he had beelined past Tony and started pulling supplies out of the cabinets. Tony watched him, and he finished off the second half of his coffee in a single gulp. When Peter motioned, the thermos in his hand made a noise that made Tony nervous the lid was going to pop off at any moment. When he stood in one spot to look into a cabinet, he bounced on his heels.

“Pete,” Tony said. 

“--All the way on the _roof.”_

“Peter.” 

“--And I _told_ Flash that wasn’t going to work--”

“Peter.” 

“--And when MJ tried to get it she almost fell off the ladder--”

_“_ Pete.” Tony poured himself another cup of coffee. 

“--As if somehow it’s _my_ fault he couldn’t throw a boomerang--”

“ _Peter,”_ Tony said, and he could have cried when Peter finally stopped and looked at him, head tilted like a dog. “It’s seven thirty in the morning.” 

And Peter _still_ wasn’t still. He trembled in place like a chihuahua on adderall. 

“Yeah,” he said, and he managed to make it sound like less than one syllable. “I know. That’s what time you told me to be here.” 

“You’re acting like Morgan when she snuck an entire box of pixie sticks,” Tony said. 

“Am I?” Peter just shrugged and turned his attention back to searching through the cabinets. Tony could hear tools rattling in boxes. Peter was talking again, “-- they were in the sewers like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Did you ever watch that show? Was it around when you were a kid? I had bedsheets for it when I was younger. Ben bought them for me-- I also had wall decals. Like those Fat Heads. Why do you think they were called Fat-- OH! I found it!” 

He whirled around and held out the smallest wrench Tony owned. He held it out, proud of it in all its 5/32″ glory. His eye twitched. Somehow, this seventeen year old kid had channeled the energy of Doc Brown-- in that moment, Tony wouldn’t have been surprised if Peter admitted to having stolen plutonium to power his flux capacitor. 

Tony was trying to be more supportive, though. So he let it slide. Besides, if Peter stole plutonium, it would probably be for a good reason,.

“Great,” Tony said. “Let’s get started, then.” He put his coffee on the counter and crossed the garage to stand beside the workbench. “Friday, pull up the prints for Peter’s webslingers. If you wanted to adjust the nozzles--”

“I thought we could do it like a camera. Like the zoom feature. If I made a scrolling pad-- Oh! Like the old DS volume buttons, when it was a sphere you had to roll.”

“Like adjusting a watch,” Tony supplemented, and he couldn’t suppress the look he gave Peter. 

“Oh! That’s a good analogy, too.” Peter grabbed his thermos and took a swig from it. The way he winced when he pulled away was telling. 

“What are you drinking?” Tony asked. 

“Coffee.” Peter put it back down. “We should make me have to pull the knob out, though. That way I don’t accidentally turn the dial-- Hey! What are you doing?” 

Tony ignored him and reached across Peter to grab the thermos. He unscrewed the lid and sniffed it. Immediately, he pulled it away from his face and gagged. 

“Jesus, kid. What the fuck is this?” 

Peter pried the lid from Tony’s fingers and gingerly returned it to its place on the thermos. “Coffee,” Peter repeated.

“Like hell it is.”

“Brewed with Redbull.” 

Tony stopped coughing into his elbow. He looked at Peter over the top of his sleeve. Peter smiled back, sheepish, cheeks flushed. Upon closer inspection (and now that he wasn’t trying to follow a moving target) the bags under Peter’s eyes were obvious. 

“You were out all night,” Tony accused. 

“Not _all_ night.” Peter took another sip of his monstrosity. 

“Stopping home to make red bull coffee doesn’t count,” Tony said. He took the thermos from Peter’s hand. Peter pouted. “Your heart already beats faster than most people’s-- this shit’ll kill you.” 

He crossed the room to the sink. Peter watched dejectedly as Tony dumped it out. 

“I don’t do it often,” he defended himself. Peter crossed his arms over his chest. His fingers still twitched. “I just needed a pick-me-up.”

“You’re insufferable,” Tony grumbled. He ran cold water in hopes of nuking the smell. It didn’t work.

“No, I’m innovative.”

“Yeah, if you’re innovating an expedient path to heart disease. You can’t do this, Pete. You need to sleep.” Tony dropped the thermos into the sink.

“I’m fine!” Peter said. “I’m here, I’m awake, I’m totally present. I’ll count the ceiling tiles. You want me to count the ceiling tiles?”

“When you crash you’re taking a nap,” Tony said. 

“But I--”

“No ‘buts.’” If Tony didn’t already have grey hairs, he was sure this kid would have given them to him. Overnight. Jean Valjean style. “Remember the talk we had about how you can defend yourself on some things but I get the final say? This is my final say. You need sleep. This shouldn’t even be a conversation.” 

“But it’s Saturday!” Peter said. “I need to be ready. I’ll sleep tomorrow.”

“What the hell does Saturday have to do with this?” Tony asked. Somehow, this was worse than the time in college he’d tried coke. That was probably because it was Peter, though. The worst thing Tony had ever seen him do was try a sip of May’s champagne at a party. He’d looked disgusted immediately after.

“The most crimes occur on Saturday,” Peter said, like _duh._

Tony stared at him. He’d memorized crime statistics. Why did this kid have to be so much like him?

“You’re going to bed,” Tony repeated. “And when you wake up, I’ll remind you about all the other heroes in New York that can take care of things on Saturdays.”

Peter huffed. “Fine,” he said. “When the caffeine wears off I’ll go to bed.” He turned back to the hologram. “Speaking of other heroes in New York, did you see that fan theory that Daredevil and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were hit by the same chemical?”

It took five hours for Peter to finally settle down. They’d gotten nothing done. Peter slept for half a day in the guest bedroom and come down the stairs looking like he’d just crawled out of the grave. The pillow had left red indents in his cheeks. His gait was that of a zombie’s. He walked to the fridge, devoured half a pizza, thanked Tony and Pepper for their hospitality, and then fell back asleep on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can come talk to me on Tumblr @dredfulhapiness my asks are always open for writing prompts, fic requests, or just to talk!

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Concerns? Want to talk headcanons or request a fic? Come talk to me on Tumblr @dredfulhapiness ! Comments and kudos here are always appreciated, too.


End file.
